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Episode 35
Last Updated:
2025-06-30 22:00:21
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BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 53
"Stabilize local reference point," the Child intones beside me. Their voice is flat, but their eyes are wide, darting. Scanning the impossible. A wall of what looks like melted glass surges up, reflecting not us, but fragments of the Hierarch’s final moments – her silver mask cracking, her eyes wide with ecstatic terror, the Mirror shard fusing into her flesh. Then it’s gone, replaced by a forest of crystalline spikes humming with discordant notes.The whispers inside me explode. Not just whispers. Shrieks. Kieran’s echo is frantic, a trapped bird battering its wings against my ribs. "OUT! Lily, GET OUT! Her taint— it’s everywhere—" The Alpha snarls, not in rage, but in recognition. A predator scenting another predator’s kill. The land’s sorrow curdles into nausea."The shard," the Child states, pointing. Not with a finger. With their whole focus. Ahead, through a tunnel of writhing, fleshy-looking light, a dark point pulses. The Mirror shard. It doesn’t reflect. It devours the chaoti
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 52
Dealers hawk grimy charms in shadowed alcoves, their eyes darting like trapped birds. Everyone here sells something dangerous. Or buys it. Tonight, we’re buying information. Or trying to. The Child moves beside me, a silent ghost in a too-big hoodie. Their gaze isn’t wary. It’s scanning. Calculating threat vectors, energy signatures, escape routes. The Weaver’s chill logic, overlaying the child who used to flinch at loud noises."Focus on the seller," they murmur, voice devoid of inflection. "Third stall left. Residual chroniton particles suggest recent proximity to temporal instability."The whispers inside me coil tighter. Kieran’s ghost whimpers, a constant static beneath the Alpha’s low growl. The land’s sorrow is a damp ache in my bones. The Council’s hunters are close. I feel it. A prickle on my neck, the unnerving absence of ambient magic where they tread. Null-tech. Designed to cage things like me. Like the Child."We need the shard’s location before they box us in," I mutter
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 51
Brown liquid splashes. Hot ceramic skitters across wet concrete. The woman in the red coat gasps. Again. Her hand flies to her mouth. Again. The cyclist swerves, curses loud enough to cut through the drizzle. Again. The traffic light flicks from amber to red. Again.Ten minutes. It’s always ten minutes. We’re stuck inside a broken pocket watch, ticking the same agonizing seconds. Havenhill Square. 3:47 PM. Relentless.The Child stands beside me, their face pale under the grey sky. Not scared. Not really. Distant. Their eyes scan the repeating scene, not seeing the people, the panic, the sheer wrongness of it. They see threads. Patterns. The Weaver’s tapestry fraying right here, right now. Their fingers twitch at their sides, tracing invisible sigils in the damp air."The tear is close," they murmur, their voice flat. Resonant with something older. "Resonance point. Hierarch’s signature… decay vector unstable."Weaver-talk. Cold. Precise. Meaningless to the woman picking up the same sh
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 50
They coil in the hollow spaces of my ribs, slither behind my eyes, press against the inside of my skull like fingers testing the strength of glass. Kieran’s voice is the worst. Not the Alpha’s growl, not the land’s weepinghis. My brother’s ghost, trapped in the prison of my bones, murmuring apologies, pleas, fragments of memories that sting like salt in a wound."Lily, I didn’t mean""You left me""The knife was supposed to save you"I dig my nails into my palms. The sharp bite of pain is an anchor. Real. The wooden cup in my other hand trembles, water sloshing over the rim. I’m supposed to be drinking. Resting. Healing.I haven’t slept in three days.Across the fire, the Child sits too still. Their fingers trace patterns in the dirtnot random. Symbols. Weaver’s glyphs. Their eyes are distant, fixed on something beyond the flames, beyond the crumbling walls of this makeshift sanctuary. They haven’t spoken since dawn. Not a word. Not even when I burned breakfast, when the wind howled t
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 49
The Weaver’s heir. Their small hands hover near my temples, trembling. Not with fear of me. Fear of this. Fear of what they must do to the only anchor they have left."Ready?" Their voice is a whisper, layered with echoes not their own.No. Never ready. My throat’s too raw for words. I nod. A jerk of the head. Do it.Their fingers touch my skin.It’s not fire. It’s unmaking.The world dissolves into pure sensation. No sight. No sound. Just pressure. Immense, crushing pressure, forcing the churning remnants – the Alpha’s dying snarl, Kieran’s shattered sobs, the land’s weeping curse – down, down, into the hollows of my bones, the cracks in my spirit. It’s like swallowing ground glass. Like being filled with liquid lightning and frozen rage. My back arches, a silent scream tearing at my lungs. Every nerve ending shrieks violation. This isn’t power. It’s poison. And they’re sealing it within me. Brick by psychic brick.The remnants fight. Of course they fight. Kieran’s ghost claws at the
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 48
The Child floats.Not flying. Drifting. Suspended a few feet above the epicenter of the blast crater, where the Hierarch detonated, where the Kieran-Alpha entity finally shattered. \Their small body is limp, arms outstretched, head lolled back. Eyes wide open, blind and glowing with an impossible light – cold, pure, terrifyingly empty. The Weaver’s power. It pours through them, a river of chaotic energy trying to contain the dissolving storm of the entity’s remnants, Kieran’s fractured soul-shards, and the land’s unleashed curse. It’s too much. It’s eating them alive from the inside."Too big," I try to rasp, but my throat is shredded. The words are dust. Too big for them. Taking them. Leaving nothing.The storm rages around them. Not wind. Essence. Tendrils of shadow that scream with the Alpha’s rage. Shards of light that weep with Kieran’s regret. Gouts of dark earth and crimson sap – the battlefield’s ancient, festering pain. It whips, lashes, threatens to tear the Child apart or
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